


Iced Gold

by HandwithQuill



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandwithQuill/pseuds/HandwithQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumbelle Secret Santa Fic for Delebloth on Tumblr. <br/>Prompt was: Belle discovers the Enchanted Rose. </p>
<p>Beta-ed by Endangeredslug. Thanks again!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iced Gold

“Well, Miss French?” 

Belle looked up from where she had been twisting the right on her finger. It was the last thing of her mother's that hadn't already been sold, and if she could help it, it would stay on her finger. It wouldn't join the trinkets in the glass case under her hands. She met Mr. Gold's eyes and swallowed. All the expressions she had every read describing brown eyes flickered through her mind, because his eyes didn't fit any of the descriptions. They were not alluring or a warm deep chocolate. They were not rich or a soulful puppy dog. They were not flat brown, either. The center was a deep chocolate, but as the iris went outward, it lightened to an almost golden color. As if you were looking through a barrier, as if his eyes were ringed with ice. 

Iced Gold. 

The family's nickname in Storybrooke. Earned when Angus Gold moved to town with his son, Malcolm. Town gossip had that Angus was a cold, hard man and his son quickly followed in his father's lead after his death. When he married and had his own son, the town knew that they were in for a third generation. But according to Granny, when Sebastian Gold was younger, he was the sweetest, nicest man. A man willing to let himself be injured rather then someone else, as his ankle and cane attested to. 

Belle had always wondered what had happened to make him another Iced Gold. She thought it probably had something to do with Neal. 

The ending of Gold's brief marriage to Milah Cassidy had been town gossip when she and her father first moved to Storybrooke. Even with the family's wealth and influence, custody of their son had gone to Milah. Belle remembered seeing Neal during the summer when he visited his father, both had seemed happy to see each other. Then in her sophomore year, Malcolm Gold passed away. When the current Mr. Gold took over the family businesses, rumor started that he was...changing. The changes seemed to compile and freeze during an argument with Neal. An argument which ended with Neal angrily driving back to New York and refusing to see his father.

Staring at his eyes, a strange thing occurred to Belle. She could tell they wanted to be warm, even as they narrowed. The inner part of the iris held just a hint of warmth that wanted to break free. It was that small, hidden inner flame, not just the desperate situation she was in, that decided her answer. “Yes.”

“We have a deal?” he confirmed, eyebrow quirked.

She nodded. “You'll have something on paper?” 

He smirked at her and reached in to the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The two sheets of paper were straight forward, covering all the details they had just discussed. She would be a live in maid, in charge of cleaning and cooking. Her room and board would be taken out of her pay, then majority of the rest of her pay would be used to pay off her father's debt. She swallowed again as she picked up the pen he set next to her hand and signed the contract. 

“Very good, Dearie.” He folded up the contract and recapped the pen. “I close the shop at five, I expect you to be waiting for me.” He nodded at her once and went into the back of the Pawn Shop.”

** ** * ** ** 

Belle sighed and leaned back against the door to the small room she would now be living in. There was barely enough room for the twin bed and dresser, the bedside table made it seem cramped, but Belle thought that there would be room between the bed and dresser to stack her books. Breathing in deeply, she held it for three heartbeats and let it out slowly, then pushing off, she took the few steps over to the bed and began unpacking. 

It didn't take long. After the medical bills and the cost of her father's funeral, there wasn't much left to her name. With the flower shop being one of the first things sold, she had wondered what she would do for a living. And where she would live as she didn't have enough left in her saving for the next month's rent. Mr. Gold's coming to her and insisting that she was responsible for her father's debt was actually a blessing.

With another sigh, she closed the closet door and made her way back down to the kitchen. When he showed her to her room, he said that he was going out and would be back late as it was 'Rent Day', but he expected dinner to be ready then.

Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out the chicken breast he instructed her to make. This would be the toughest part of the job. She wasn't the best cook and only knew a few simple dishes. Making a mental note to go to the library tomorrow and check out a cookbook, she opened the cabinets to find seasonings. Once done, she stuck them in the oven and stared on mixed vegetables and rice. 

When it was done, she ate her own and placed his plate on a tray in the oven to keep it warm. Left to her own devices, she looked around. He had given her a quick tour of the huge Victorian house when she arrived. The living room, open kitchen/dinning room, a powder room and his study were on the first floor. Master Bedroom, two guest rooms, and the bathroom on the second. She went to the third floor though. The living room and his collection she would get to know from dusting it everyday and bedrooms were bedrooms. The third floor had been separated into many small rooms, servant quarters from when the house was built.

Her room was the first room at the top of the stairs. She peeked in most of the rooms, seeing a couple she would like to come back to later. It was at the end of the hall, that she noticed another door. It matched the framework of the house perfectly, blending in to be almost unnoticeable. But something about it caught her attention.

Head tilted to the side, she approached it slowly. She reached out, hand hovering over the doorknob, but hesitated and took a step back. Something was keeping her from grasping the doorknob. Looking around the hall, she realized that it must lead to the attic tower. She reached to grasp the doorknob again, but, yet again, hesitated. She both wanted to open the door and wanted to pretend she never saw it. Intrigued, she reached out again, but heard the front door open and turned to hurry downstairs to get Mr. Gold his dinner. 

** ** * ** **

It was late, when she returned to her room, having waited for him to shower and retire for the night before she did so as well. She set her alarm clock for five a.m. as “Breakfast at six a.m., Miss French” was the last thing he said to her before going upstairs. Not bothering to pull on any pajamas, she fell on the bed and wiggled under the covers. Sleep came quickly but it wasn't restful. She tossed, turned, and woke up many time in the night. 

When her alarm went off, she wasn't ready for it, but she pushed herself out of bed and into a the shower. When she made it into the kitchen, she started the coffee maker and put a kettle on, not sure which Mr. Gold preferred in the morning. Opening the refrigerator once again, she frowned. With not much to go on, it would have to be French Toast. She pulled out the eggs while making a mental note to go grocery shopping after her morning chores. 

She had plated the first slices when she heard the step-tap of Mr. Gold approaching. He entered the kitchen and ignoring her 'Good Morning' stepped right up to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. With out doctoring it, he drank half of it. Topping it off, he went to the refrigerator, poured in a dash of milk, turned and sank into a chair at the dinning room table. She placed the plate in front of him and retreated back to the kitchen, making her own breakfast. 

“Miss French?”

His inquire had her tuning from where she was at the sink cleaning the pan, having put her plate aside to eat when he left. 

“I'm sure you are aware of by now that the pantry needs stocking, I have a standing order at the grocery store. It should be ready for you to pick up by noon today. Dust the first floor and my suits should be ready to be picked up from the dry cleaners by two. The laundry room should have everything else you need for the rest.” 

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” She picked up his empty plate and placed it in the sink. He finished off the third cup of coffee by the time she was done and he slid on his suit jacket and made his way to the door. 

“I shall return sometime in the evening. _Do not_ go into the attic!” 

The door closed behind him and she was alone. She wandered around the ground floor, duster in hand, but the house was already clean, so she ended up browsing his collection. When the grandfather clock in the hall chimed that it was noon, she grabbed her jacket and made her way to the grocery store. She considered staying out but there was too many things that needed to be refrigerated. So she headed back to the Victorian to put away the groceries before going to the library to get a couple of cookbook, and kill some time, before she needed to pick up his suits. 

She took them up and hung them in his closet, keeping her eyes fixed on what she was doing to keep the urge to snoop at bay. Going up the stairs to the third floor to put her jacket away, she stopped at the top, eyes seemingly drawn to the hidden door at the end of the hall. 

The urge to go to it, do open it was back. She even took a step forward, when she remembered that Mr. Gold expressly told her not to go into the attic. She wondered what he had locked away up there, but shook her head as she noticed the light from outside growing dimmer. She hurried to get started on dinner. 

** ** * ** ** 

The first day set a pattern. She awoke at five to have breakfast ready. He went to work and she would do her morning chores. Around noon, she would make herself lunch or go out to Granny's and do any errands before retuning to make dinner. On Saturdays she dropped off the dry cleaning and picked it up on Mondays. Wednesdays she did the rest of the laundry. It really wasn't bad. She rarely saw Mr. Gold except at mealtimes, at least during the first month. 

On the fourth Monday, as she set his omelet in front of him and re-filled his coffee, he stopped her from going back into the kitchen. With a loaded fork, he pointed to the chair opposite him. 

“Eat.”

She stared him in for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the single word he spoke. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she jumped and rushed into the kitchen to get her plate and juice. They ate in silence and when he was done, he stood, put on his jacket and left. The scene repeated at dinner that night. After two months he started nodding to her when she greeted him. At three months was the change.

“What?” she asked, blinking at him across the dinner table. 

“I asked how your day went. I saw you leaving the library when I stopped in at Granny's for lunch. I assume all of your chores were done?”

“Y-yes. I was exchanging cookbooks. I've never made a cherry-lemon pie before and since we had the ingredients...” She trailed off, watching his face, still not sure he cared. He had never started a conversation before. 

“It's very good for a first attempt,” he said, finishing off his piece of pie. He stood, picked up his plate, placed it in the sink. “Good Evening, Miss French.” He nodded and went down the hall to his study. 

“Good night, Mr. Gold,” she whispered to his back.

** ** * ** **

Her room was cold when she entered. She quickly changed into pajamas and slipped into bed. She didn't remember falling asleep, but was another night where she tossed and turned.

When her alarm finally went off in the morning, she wanted nothing more the to ignore it, but she pushed herself into motion. Mr. Gold was all ready downstairs when she entered the kitchen and she quickly started on breakfast. She couldn't help the smile that quirked up the corner on her lips when he complimented her cooking again. 

She wasn't sure if she should be amused at his awkward stilted attempts at conversation. The first week he complimented her cooking, leaving before she had a chance to say anything. The second week he asked her about the book she was reading.

“Oh, it's something that Ruby wanted me to watch, but when I learned that there were books, I decided to read them instead. It's actually pretty interesting. There's a little bit of everything in it. Most of it takes place in 18th century Scotland right before Culloden. There is a lot of history in it, you might like it if you want to try? I'll have it finished by tomorrow.”

She left it on the entryway table before she went to bed and couldn't help the slight lift at the corner of her mouth when she saw that it was gone when she went to lunch. She made sure to get the second in the series from Ruby and at dinner that night they discussed the first. 

** ** * ** **

She closed the last book in the side series in frustration. She knew he would be done with the preceding novel that day, but she couldn't seem to concentrate. She yawned and checked the dryer to see how much time was left. There was enough time to put away the basket at her feet. She yawned again as she picked up it and started up the stairs. 

She put away his clothes and mounted the stairs for the third floor. She tried to keep her eyes from it, but the mystery attic door seemed to be calling her. Before she could stop herself, she was turning the knob and she was surprised when it opened under her hand. There was no light switch and she slowly went up the stairs to the attic tower. 

The door at the top of the stairs opened almost before she touched it. She dropped the laundry basket when she saw what was inside. 

“Do you believe in magic, Miss French?”

The voice her made her jump and she turned slightly to see Mr. Gold standing behind her, feet apart, hands braced on his cane. He filled the doorway, the doorway that had been closed and locked for the five months she's worked for him as a maid. The doorway he told her to never go through. 

“I—” She tried to tell him that she didn't mean to snoop, but the words died in her throat. How long had she been staring, if he was home already?

Her eyes swept back to the pedestal table that was the only furniture in the small windowless room. On it, seemingly floating in mid-air and under a glass dome, was a rose, the edges of each petal and stem had a light coating of frost. The faint glow it gave off was the only illumination in the room. She took a step forward and reached out her hand as she watched one wilting petal fall to join three others on the table. This close, she could see that around the edge of the table were words. She opened her mouth, questions piling on top of each other, when heard the tap of his cane as he came up behind her, stopping just as she felt his heat.

“Do you believe in magic, Miss French?” he asked again quietly in her ear. She glanced up at where his face hovered over her shoulder. Her mouth shut when she saw his expression. It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't looking at her, but at the rose. He noticed her staring and his face formed into the passive, blank expression she had grown used to. He quirked an eyebrow. 

“I would have said no not too long ago, but...” She tailed off and gestured to the rose. “How—Why—What—” She shook her head, so many questions. 

He nodded.

“It's been in my family for centuries.”

“Centuries?” she breathed. She was a florist's daughter, the fact that the rose was glowing and floating was bypassed with wondering how a cut flower was still alive after so long. 

“Yes,” he murmured in her ear. “Once upon a time, one of my ancestors, Adam Gold, lived on a vast estate.” His voice was soft, his accent thickening as it took on a storytelling cadence. “At the end of the summer one year, unknown to him, a family of wanders settled on the edge of his estate. But as the autumn became winter and the snow started to pile up and the temperature fell, things changed. One winter's night, the oldest member of the family came to the Manor House to ask for permission to shelter in one of the outlaying buildings. In payment, she offered the last bloom off of their prized rose bush, rumored to had _special_ qualities.” 

Belle blinked at the flower in front of her. In her mind's eye she could see the story playing out. 

“What happened then?”

“Adam was young and wealthy, but also harsh and unkind. He sneered at the old woman and ordered his footman to throw her out. She pleaded for her family, knowing that without shelter, they wouldn't survive the night. He repeated the order to the footman adding that in the morning they had better be gone from his lands or he would call the Constable and have them arrested. The old women stood tall and looked at him then asked if he was sure that was the action he wanted to take. When he confirmed, she nodded and threw the rose to his feet and spoke the words. 

He stepped out from behind her and trailed his hand along the table, reading off the words.

_Warmth to ice one and all_  
 _son to son shall pass the pall_  
 _reverse the changes_   
_'ere the last shall fall_

“What does it mean?” she asked when he was facing her once again. 

He shrugged. 

“If I knew that, my family wouldn't still be cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“Aye.” He moved back and ran his hand along the second sentence. “'Son to son shall pass the pall'. Since Adam, all the Gold men have only one child, a son. And all the Gold men, no matter how much they don't believe or how hard they try not to, they abandon their child somehow.” 

She could see the pain in his eyes and knew he was thinking of Neal.

She wanted to say something. But what could she say? Surely it was much more the the coincidence she wanted to claim it was. Even if it was a self-fulfilling 'curse', if he had hundreds of years of family history saying it was true, who was she to say it was wrong? 

“And the rest?” she asked. “There must be some ideas of what the other lines mean? Of how to—to stop—to break the curse?”

“Generations of speculation.” He shrugged again. “Though if there was anytime to figure it out, it would be now.” A brittle smile flickered across his lips. “We don't talk much, but Neal called me today. His fiance is pregnant. I don't—” He swallowed hard. “I don't want what happened to myself and Neal to happen again. Neal doesn't believe. But after I die, when he sees how he changes and can't seem to stop himself, I don't—I want better for him.” 

He let out a shuttering sigh as she placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Then we break the curse.” She smiled at him. 

“You'll help me? The terrible Mr. Iced Gold?” 

“Yes,” she said, biting her lip as she thought. “You were never Iced Gold with me. And the last few months...” She trailed off with a shrug. “Show me the 'generation of speculation.' you mentioned”

He escorted her down to his study, the one room she had never been inside in all the months she had worked for him. The room was crammed full. Overflowing bookcases on each wall, stacks of banker boxes stood in towers behind his desk that was covered in papers.

“I brought these all out of storage when Neal called me. When I was young, I tried to investigate the curse. To find a way to break it. After my father died, it suddenly didn't seem to matter anymore.” 

She watched as he stood there. He closed his eyes and almost appeared to shake off something. He took two deep breaths and opened his eyes, seemingly surprised to see her.

“This,” he said, going over to the desk and picking up a leather bound journal, “is the footman's account of the events. Adam didn't keep a journal and truthfully, no one realized, exactly, what had happened until much later. They had the rose and the old woman's words, but it was when Adam's son, who was much loved by the staff for being very different to his father, became Lord of the Manor that it became clear. The care he always had with the staff seemed to have died with his father. That was when they knew what the curse was.” 

She reached out to take the journal.

“And we'll find out how to break it.”   
** ** * ** **

Over the next month they moved the research into the living room, so that Belle could work on it easier after her chores were done. She had gone through the library's entire new age section, but being a small town it wasn't extensive. 

While taking breaks from researching, they talked. She learned that he spent summers with his grandmother in Scotland and, much to the chagrin of his eleven year-old self, insisted he learn to use a spinning wheel. But he didn't mind it as he got older and noticed that 'the lass' really seemed to dig it'.

She told him of her mother's death and moving to the States. Of being different in a small town and not really fitting in. About why she loved books and the places she wanted to travel to. 

Back and forth they would go, until sitting in the living room with him was her favorite part of the day. 

She was currently there, lying across the couch, trying to find a site online that took a curse serious, but didn't go too out there. She yawned and rubbed the back of her neck with her hands. 

“Here.” 

She looked over to see him passing her a cup of tea. 

“The sons of the Gold family have been looking for three hundred years. Take a brake.” He sat at the other end of the couch with his own cup of tea. They sat in silence, sipping their tea when something occurred to her. 

“You said that you were researching the curse before your father passed away?”

He nodded. 

“And that when he died, it suddenly didn't matter to you?”

He nodded again.

“Like it was too late, so why bother or...” she trailed off, watching his face. 

“No,” he said, with a frown and was shaking his head. “It was more like even thought I had been passionate about breaking the curse, I suddenly I didn't care about it. Like flipping a switch, and _nothing_ mattered to me. And yet, I felt like the world was mine. Or at least this town. I owned much of it and I was going to let people know I was in charge. I didn't care who I stepped on,” he looked down into his tea. “Even if it was family.”

“But you're researching again. For Neal?”

“Yes. I don't want him and his son to go through this.”

“So.... you care now?” she asked. “Like you did before your father died?” She reached into the pile of papers next to the couch while she watched his brows draw together. She had another idea forming, but she had to be sure. She found the paper with the curse on it and read it under her breath.   
_Warmth to ice one and all_  
 _son to son shall pass the pall_  
 _reverse the changes_   
_'ere the last shall fall_

She grabbed his hand and pulled him up to the attic. 

As always when she came up here, she stopped to stare at the ice covered rose floating in mid-air. 

“What do you feel?” she asked him.

“Miss French?” 

“Do you feel like you did after your father died or like before?”

“I—” 

“Because you care. You have always cared about Neal.

“Yes,” he said it softly, like it was too dangerous to say any louder.

“And I think—,” she stopped to wet her lips, to get her thoughts time to form. “I think that you've always wanted to care. I've seen it. You show it in the way you are with me. You were never 'Iced Gold' with me. And the last couple of months....” 

She trialed off as met his eyes because she saw it again. That flame hidden in the center of the ice. Slowly, she reached up and cupped the side of his face, gently lowering it towards her as she lifted on her toes to meet his lips. She kept the kiss light, a chaste press of lips, he was the one to change it, relaxing into her, hands on her hips pulling her closer. His lips moved against hers and she stepped closer, hands sliding up into his hair. 

They broke apart, foreheads touching, as they caught their breath. He leaned in slightly, letting the tip of his nose nuzzle hers. 

“Belle,” he whispered against her lips before kissing her again. She opened for him and they kissed for a few minutes until she heard something and pulled away. 

As they watched, the ice crusting the rose petals melted and dripped onto the table. When all the ice was gone, the glowing intensified before flowing out from the rose in a whoosh. Gold gasped and stumbled against her. Her hands shot out to catch him as he fell.

“Mr. Gold!” 

He stayed curled up around his knees, gasping, for a few minutes, before he blinked up at her. She let out her own gasp at his eyes. 

The chocolate brown with flakes of amber were no longer ringed in ice, but glowed with a inner warmth. 

“Belle! Can you feel it?” he whispered, bringing his hand up to caress her cheek. 

“Feel what?”

He didn't answer her with words, but kissed her again. “Can you feel it?” he asked again, grasping her hand and pressing it to his chest. His heart was pounding under her hand, but his chest was radiating warmth.

“Mr. Gold? I—”

He shook his head. “Sebastian,” he told her, as he brushed his lips against hers. ”Please call me Sebastian.” 

“Sebastian.” 

“Yes,” He pulled her to stand and into another kiss, before pressing his forehead against hers again. “How did you know?”

“'Warmth to ice' and 'reverse the changes' We were over thinking it. You all became unfeeling, cold, ice. But you were changing that. You were still cursed, but you weren't ice. You cared! I, uh, went out on a limb that you cared about me like I do about you.” she blushed. 

“I do, Belle,” he whispered against her forehead. “I—I love you.” 

“I love you, too” 

She wrapped her arms around him and leaned into his neck. There was still much that they needed to discuss, but right now they were both content to saver each others warmth.


End file.
